


Harry Potter, Lord of the Swamp

by Dayja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts Third Year, Humor, Inheritance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:04:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dayja/pseuds/Dayja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know those stories where Harry discovers he's super rich, super powerful, and all the good guys are evil and the bad guys are good and he's related Merlin?  This story is nothing like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which the Harry Potter Inspects His Accounts and Learns Something Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own, am not associated with, make no money from Harry Potter.

Harry Potter sat somewhat uncomfortably in the goblin’s office.  His chair was almost too small for a human to wedge into.  Goblins weren’t much for other people’s comfort, and so had designed their offices to accommodate goblins.  Luckily, thanks to years of malnutrition, Harry was quite a small human, even at the age of thirteen.

“Er…really, um…sir?”  The goblin had introduced himself, but his name had sounded a bit like gurgling rocks.  "I’m not really sure why you dragged me in here?  I only came to withdraw a few…”

“Responsible adults,” the goblin interrupted sternly, “Are in the habit of reviewing their accounts.  Setting up stocks and bonds.  Check books.  Credit.  At the very least, they request monthly bank statements to keep track of their own vaults’ contents.”

Harry Potter shrunk back in his chair, as much as the tiny bony furniture allowed for further shrinking.  How does anyone answer such a statement?  ‘No, sir, I’d rather continue to act like an irresponsible kid, thanks.  Can I go to my vault now and do what I always do; guess how much I need and hope the money lasts through graduation?’  So Harry did not say this.  He just thought it very loudly.

“Now,” the goblin, continued, pulling open a folder.  “Let’s start with your basic holdings and entitlements.”  Then he took out a knife.

“Um…” Harry said.  He wondered if he shouldn’t be running for the door.  The goblin handed the knife to Harry.  Then he slid the paper across the table and waited.  Impatiently.

“Um…” Harry said again, staring at the paper and holding the knife.

“Well go on!” the goblin said.  “Prick your finger!  You need blood to unlock your folder!”

“What?  No!”  Harry dropped the knife.

“For Gredkrjenek’s sake!” the goblin growled, and before Harry quite knew what he was doing, the goblin had grabbed Harry’s hand, and the knife, and stabbed him.

“Ow!” Harry howled, more in surprise than anything.  For being stabbed, the knife wound turned out to be no worse than if the goblin had used a pin for the same purpose.  Three tiny drops of blood welled up and fell onto the document before Harry managed to wrestle his hand away and stick his finger in his mouth.  The boy and the goblin glared at each other. 

After a moment, the goblin pulled the blood stained document back to him.  The blood had soaked into the paper and was in the process of turning into words.  The goblin peered at the paper with some fascination.

“According to our records, you are a direct decedent of Godric Gryffindor!”

“Really?  Wow…that’s…”

“And Salazar Slytherin.”

“Er…well, I suppose…”

“And also the lines of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Merlin –hold on, this could take a while- BlackMalfoyBonesWeasleyGandalfPrinceDiggeryAbbotDumbledoreOzNottParkinsonLovegood…”

It did take a while.  As far as Harry could tell, he was a ‘direct decedent’ of every wizard family in existence.  The goblin read out the list all in one long breath.  His face was a bit blue towards the end.

“and, of course, Potter.”   Harry gave the goblin some time to catch his breath while he contemplated this new information.

“Right,” he said, when the goblin stopped looking so blue.  “So does this mean…I don’t know…did I inherit anything from them?  Titles?  Vaults?  Properties?  Cool magical abilities?”

“Oh yes, of course,” the goblin said, his voice mocking and sarcastic.  Not unlike Snape, but with sharper teeth and less style.  “All these wizarding families that have existed for millennia never had any ancestors who thought to stop by the goblins and find out if any ancient properties just happened to be lying around for the claiming.”

“There’s no need to be rude,” Harry mumbled.  “You did say I was a direct decedent of all those people.”

“You, and just about every other witch or wizard who comes in here.  Wizards really are a very inbred race.”

“Ew.”  Harry thought about this a moment longer.  “Well, that explains a lot.”

“Indeed,” the goblin said with a malicious grin. 

“So…does that mean I don’t get anything?  I mean, except my family vault…that I already knew about, so…what’s this meeting for again?”

“Hmm...” the goblin answered, staring down at the document in front of him.  “You want a title, do you?  Let’s see if they’ve all been claimed already…”

“You just said that they had been.  You said it was stupid to think otherwise.”

“I also said that wizards are stupid.  Aha!  There is a title you can claim!  It seems no one else has bothered with it.”

“Is it Potter?” Harry asked.  “Was my father a lord or something?”

“What?  No.  The Potters were all self-made.”

“Really?  Well actually, that kind of sounds better.  I mean, I’d hate to call myself important just because my family happens to …”

“You can, however, claim the title Lord Bogwater.”

“…Whatever.  Look, I really just want to go to my vault…”  Harry tried to stand up, so as to move the meeting along.  It didn’t quite work.  He had managed to get wedged between the armrests.

The goblin, completely ignoring him, pressed a claw into the paper.  It glowed a sickly green for a moment.  Something went ‘ping’ above Harry and something small and hard dropped on his head.  It rolled off and he managed to catch it with his super Seeker reflexes. 

“There,” said the goblin.  “You have been accepted as Lord Bogwater.  Congratulations.”

“What?  But I didn’t…”

“It even comes with property attached.”

“…”  Harry stopped trying to wrench himself out of the seat.  “What kind of property.”

“It says here, ‘Bogwater Estate’  I believe it to be located in a swamp.”

Harry considered this.  Well, it still beat living with the Dursleys, didn’t it?

“Your new ring should have a portkey spell attached.  Simply put it on, tap it with your wand, and say ‘Bogwater Estate’.  That’s the usual method.”

“What ring?” Harry demanded. 

“…the one you now hold in your hand.”  The goblin was giving him that look again, the one that said he thought Harry particularly stupid.  He decided not to ask what a portkey spell was.  Instead, Harry looked down at the thing he had caught that had fallen on his head.  It was a ring.  It was a dull iron color, a bit chunky, and without any jewels.  A bit reluctantly, he slid it onto his thumb for safekeeping, his thumb being the only finger big enough for it not to slide off again.  It felt a bit like having his thumb in a cast.  A heavy, cold, metallic cast.

“Now,” the goblin said, before Harry could consider trying it out and travelling to his new estate.  “Lord Bogwater…”

“I prefer Harry, actually.”

“…Lord Bogwater.  Let’s move on to the next document, shall we?”  Before Harry could protest sitting and listening to even more documents, the goblin had slid out more papers.  Thankfully, these already seemed to have writing and the goblin did not reach for a knife.

“The last will and testament of Lily and James Potter,” the goblin read.  Harry blinked.  He had never thought about his parents having a will.  He supposed that this one more connection to his past was something he really should stay and listen to.

He was wrong.  He was very wrong.  It wasn’t like getting an unexpected letter from his parents.  It was like getting an unexpected very very boring document from his parents. It used very boring legal words that a lawyer might enjoy but that Harry didn’t.  He found his mind wandering.  To questions.  Like…why is a copy of his parent’s will kept by a bank?  Are goblins also lawyers?

“And that brings us to the matter of our son, Harry James Potter,” the goblin droned on.  The gist of what Harry understood so far was that Harry inherited most everything his parents owned, except for bits they gave to friends.  And it said who Harry was supposed to go to if they both died.  Harry did start listening more properly at this point.

“…and under no circumstances shall our son be placed with Petunia Dursley, ne Evans, the sister of the first deceased, or her family…”

“Hold on!  I was put with her!  Them!  The Dursleys!  You mean, I wasn’t meant to…”

“Ahem,” the goblin growled, actually growled, at the interruption.  Harry stopped talking.

“…unless exception 5A from part 3, paragraph 2 occurred, in which case our son must be placed with Petunia Dursley, ne Evans, the sister of the first deceased.  If the aforementioned…”

“Wait, so what’s that exception then?”

The goblin gave him a look, but he did dutifully go back to the mentioned paragraph.  It had been read already while Harry had been zoned out.

“Should either deceased die under the circumstances of sacrifice in the protection of their son, resulting in their son living when he otherwise should have died…”

And Harry stopped listening again.  It was rather depressing really.  His own parents had condemned him to the Dursleys, even if it was to protect him.  The reading took forever.  The end result seemed to be that Harry had received his single vault, which he already knew, and was stuck with the Dursleys.

“Yes,” Harry said, when the goblin finally seemed to be finished.  Harry finally and forcibly jerked himself out of the chair.  “Thank you.  Now, can I…”

“Next document,” the goblin said, giving him a stern look.  Harry crossed his arms.  He refused to sit back down.  “Bank statements.”

“I really don’t care about…”

“Withdrawals from the Potter Account, enacted 5 November, 1981 by Albus Dumbledore:

            To the account of Hogwarts-5,000 galleons

            To the account of Arthur Weasley-1,000 galleons…”

“Wait…Dumbledore took money out of my account?  Why would…I mean, he wouldn’t steal…”

“If you had listened to the will reading,” the goblin said, in an annoyed manner, “You would know that Albus Dumbledore was in charge of carrying our your parent’s wishes.  This included sums of money to various parties.”

“Oh.  Right.  Go on.”  The goblin did.  There were several withdrawals on that date by Dumbledore to various people.  Then there was no activity whatsoever until Harry’s first year of Hogwarts, when Harry took money out of his vault.  Harry listened to all the numbers involved, and felt his brain glaze over.  His legs began to grow tired.  He refused to sit down.  He didn’t quite make up his mind to just leave.

“And that brings us to the final document,” the goblin finally said.  Harry’s words came out somewhat jumbled as he at once tried to say

“Thank goodness it’s the last one,” and “There’s still more!”

The goblin ignored Harry’s attempt to speak and slid out the last document.  He looked at it.  “Ah yes…birth certificate.”

“I don’t really need…”

“Harry James Potter,” the goblin read.  “Born 31 July, 1980.  Mother: Lily Potter ne Evans.”

“Yes, thank…”

“Father: Severus Snape.”

“you…wait what?!”

He snatched the document away from the goblin.  Under father, it said ‘James Potter’.  The goblin gave him a nasty grin, and snatched the document back.  Harry glared at him, hardly even listening as the goblin finished reading the rest of the document, something about witnesses and his recent acceptance of a title.

“Now that we have covered all of your account,” the goblin said, his voice suddenly clerical and faux friendly, “There is the matter of your future with us.  Are you interested in stocks?  Bonds?  Would you like to set up a checkbook?”

The boy and the goblin looked at each other.  Finally, Harry said, “Look, just take me to my vault, okay?”

“Of course, Lord Bogwater,” the goblin answered, and just as suddenly as Harry had been dragged into the office, he now found himself shoved out of it.


	2. In Which Lord Bogwater Inspects His Vast Estate and Finds It Wet

Harry Potter, being a thirteen year old wizard currently living on his own, sat in his room and polished his wand.  This was not something most thirteen year old wizards bother to polish; certainly Harry had never polished his before.  He hadn’t known he was supposed to.  Ollivander hadn’t offered much in the way of wand upkeep, and Hagrid had offered even less.  Nonetheless, he sat on his bed with his broom polishing equipment and gave it a quick shine.  It sparked at him.  He hoped that broom polish was good for wands.  At the very least, it was now shinier.

In truth, he was making a valiant attempt at boredom.  A bored person might decide to polish their broom, and then decide to move on to their wand.  A bored person would not be thinking about a newly acquired ring that may or may not transport them to a mysterious estate.  A bored person does not have such dangerous excitement to consider.  A bored person definitely wouldn’t be discovering what a ‘portkey’ was through dangerous experimentation. 

A non-bored person, in this particular instance, could very well be a very stupid person.  A smart young lad like Harry, on the other hand, would realize that he had been told to stay put by the minister of magic himself.  A sensible young person would acknowledge the very real danger to their person and definitely not go off on their own to inspect a supposed estate.  At the very least, said intelligent youth would contact a responsible adult to consult with on the matter first.

Unfortunately, Harry did not know such an adult as could be described in that manner.  Every adult he had ever had contact with was at best well-meaning but irresponsible, and at worst actively malicious, if not murderous.  So, having no one to contact on the matter, Harry was determined to ignore the new fortune that heavily encased his left thumb.

On the other hand, Harry was only thirteen years old, and had actively been taught to avoid self-preservation methods by all adults in his life, caring or malicious.  That he held out for half an hour was testament to his own inner strength.

So maybe, while polishing his wand, the tip may have slipped a bit until it pointed at his new ring.  And it was certainly not Harry’s fault that he was musing aloud about his new estate, and happened to say ‘Bogwater Estate’ at that instance.  This was an accident that surely could happen to anyone.  The fact that nothing happened the first time, and that he then repeated the whole experiment while shoving a bit of magic from his wand to his ring, was inconsequential.

The activated portkey was not inconsequential at all.  Apparently ‘Portkey spell’ meant ‘Vomit Inducing Teleportation spell’.  If that were the case, it did its job admirably.  The world spun and jerked Harry away from his warm, dry room at the Leaky Cauldron before dumping him outdoors.

Harry’s great luck held, however, as instead of falling onto potentially painful stones or brambles, he was dropped into squelching mud.  He sunk into the muck a good foot.  The mud was oozy and soft and smelled so exactly like a pile of Dudley’s underpants on washday that Harry actually found himself hunching over in case his aunt suddenly appeared to scold him into hurrying up with the laundry.

“Ugh,” said Harry, and he tried to look around.  This was made difficult by the fact that his glasses had flown from his face upon his arrival.  With great seeker reflexes, not to mention long years of practice from living with Dudley, he had managed to catch them before they disappeared forever.  Unfortunately, they still somehow were covered in mud, making it rather hard to see.  Not that there was much to see.

He was surrounded on all sides by mud.  Some mud was thick and black. Some was goopy.  Some was green and bubbling gently.  Some was so wet that it might well not be called mud at all so much as murky water.  There were plants as well, reedy plants hiding treacherous pools and making swishing noises in the wind.   The world was alive with sound, in fact, buzzing and croaking and the occasional bird’s scream.  The air was cool, on the verge of being cold, and the wet ground was not helping matters.  There were also splashes and blooping noises and then, quite close by, some creature screamed and thrashed and growled with unexpected violence, as though some unknown being was being savaged by another unknown being.  Which, in fact, was exactly what was happening.  And then all was silent again.  Through the film of mud coating his glasses, Harry could just make out a nearby structure of some kind.

Harry tried to stand up and make for the structure.  Then he had to sit back down again, both because the mud was unexpectedly sticky and because he suddenly realized he was no longer holding his wand.

“My wand!” he did not scream in a girlish high pitched voice, because thirteen year old boys do not scream in girlish high pitched voices.  Therefore, his scream must have been quite manly and deep.

Desperation overcame any natural aversion to his surroundings and he plunged his hand into the mud.  The mud grabbed back, or so it felt, because when he pulled his left hand out it was sans ring.

“My ring!” came a second cry that was so deep and manly that it threatened to break his glasses, as deep, manly screams are wont to do.  Soon he had both hands dripping and squelching through the earth.  Occasionally he’d yank up something hard only to find it was a twig or a large pointy tooth or a bit of bone.  Just when he was ready to despair completely, he finally found his ring.  He then leaped up in triumph, fell over when his feet failed to escape the murk, and alighted upon his wand, which hadn’t sunk into the mud at all and had been resting near his elbow the whole time.

Wand and ring in hand, he struggled toward the mysterious structure.  Perhaps it was an ancient castle.  Perhaps it was a mansion.  Perhaps it would be warm and dry and, at the very least, not housing whatever violent creatures the surrounding mud seemed to hide.

Every step was a trial.  The mud sucked at his feet.  The water gurgled.  Reeds entangled his knees, and then his chest when he stepped into an unexpectedly deep hole.  Luckily, none of the pools of water were so deep that he needed to swim, considering he had never learned how.  The entire time he trudged, waded, and occasionally sank forward, he heard noises.  Things thrashed in the pools.  Strange, ethereal voices sang luring tunes off in the distance.  Flies attacked any bit of his flesh they could find.  Thankfully, he was so coated with mud that there wasn’t much bare flesh available for them to bite.  Larger insects zinged about his head.

Finally, instead of stepping into sinking mud, his foot hit something hard, followed by his knee which promptly started bleeding.  Harry paused to wash his glasses in a nearby pool, and then attempted to wipe off the slime using the inside of his shirt.  He got his first proper look at his new estate.

It wasn’t a castle.  It definitely wasn’t a mansion.  It wasn’t even a house.

Before him was a very tiny island, or perhaps oasis.  More accurately, there was quite a large rock that jutted out from the swampland and provided solid, though damp ground.  Upon this rock, there was a stone tower.  The tower leaned quite a bit.  In fact, it looked like it might topple over at any moment.  The stones were probably white to begin with, but time and their environment had left them a slimy green.  All in all, the entire structure looked old, decrepit, and diseased.  Normally, Harry would never have gone inside such a building at all.  Even knowing he was now the owner was not enough to entice him.  In fact, he might have sat outside all evening and all night, if it weren’t for the crocodiles.

The island, if one might call it that when it was, somewhat, surrounded by land, was inhabited.  It took a moment for Harry to notice, considering the inhabitants were much the same color and shape as the stone they rested on.  They were, however, somewhat cleaner and less slimy than the ground, and even Harry’s poor eyesight was able to notice when a rock opened its mouth and showed him rows of sharp teeth.

“Eek,” came Harry’s manly scream.

Under normal circumstances, it is not possible for a human to outrun a crocodile.  Their legs may look short and stumpy, but there are four of them to our two.  Four legs will always run down two legs.  However, Harry had two things to his advantage.

Number one: he was a wizard and his magic was already in the practice of helping him to quickly relocate from potential bodily harm.  Years of accidental magic incidents in relation to Dudley’s gang had left a sort of magical muscle memory that aided him in his flight.  Number two: the crocodiles had no interest in Harry and didn’t bother to run after him.

Not realizing this second point, and probably not caring if he had noticed, Harry made for the closest crocodile-free zone he could find, namely the tower.  Within seconds of first realizing the large stone he was about to step on had teeth, Harry was bursting through the remains of an old rotted door and half up the stone steps jutting out from the tower walls before he quite realized what he was doing.

Harry had, in his short career as a wizard, seen many amazing magical feats when it came to enchanting buildings.  The Weasley’s home, for instance, looked quite small and crooked from the outside.  Much like the tower, their house did not look like it should stand.  He had also seen the effects of enlargement charms, which could make any space bigger on the inside than the outside.  Magic, he knew, could be used to make a comfortable, clean, and roomy living space even out of the most run down of structures.

No such charms seemed to be in effect inside the tower.  The stones were just as slimy and old within as without.  He could feel the whole structure swaying slightly beneath his feet.  Even worse, there was no railing to the staircase.  There were simply stone slabs that jutted from the walls, just far enough apart that Harry could manage to hop up.  If Harry had been the sort of person to fear heights, as soon as he got over his crocodile scare he’d probably have been frozen in fear halfway up the stairs.

Harry was not scared of heights. Now that he was actually in the tower and on the staircase, he thought he might as well climb all the way up to see what his new abode might be like.

The staircase was treacherous.  Aside from the lack of proper railing, the stones had grown some sort of moldy slime that was slippery to walk on, and quite possibly deadly to touch.  The light was poor, despite the occasional hole in the tower’s side; whether those were windows or the natural result of time, Harry wasn’t entirely certain.  He preferred to think them intentional.  The tower was also inhabited, just as the rocks outside.  Instead of crocodiles, however, he came upon webs.  His friend Ron would almost certainly have been petrified.  Harry, on the other hand, thought they gave a friendly feel to an otherwise unlivable location.  For roughly ten years of his life, spiders had been his only friends.  There was one other good aspect of the stairs.  They seemed to have been built with the tower’s tilt taken into consideration.  The walls might lean, but the slabs were all parallel to the floor.

Finally, Harry managed to climb the stairs right up to the top.  They led to a trap door, or the remains of one.  Like the doorway to the tower, the wood had long since rotted.  In this case, only the hinges and a sliver of blackened wood remained.  Harry had to pull himself up, as the stairs didn’t quite go high enough to just step out.

The trap door led into one large room.  The room was stone with a wooden, half missing roof.  Like the stairs, the floor managed to be mostly level despite a pronounced tilt to the walls.  The whole room swayed gently beneath his feet, rather like the rocking of a boat.  Harry looked around the room.  Thanks to the half missing roof, there was plenty of light to see by. 

The room was quite large, really, though very small if one were secretly hoping to find, say, a mansion disguised as a decrepit tower.  There was a large fireplace on the side where the wall sloped inwards with a pile of old, very rotted logs sitting waiting to be burned at its side.  In that corner there was also a bed.  At least, there was an old metal frame with yellowed rags which may have once been sheets covering a pile of wet, somewhat blackened straw.  On the other side of the room there was a strange, rusty metal contraption that Harry thought might have been a stove, considering it had a sort of metal chimney leading out through the roof, several shelves that had, surprisingly, not rotted away, and an equally surprising wooden table accompanied by a single wooden chair.  The legs to both were not quite even.  On the shelves were one rusted cauldron, two pans, and three clay plates.  Finally, there was one massive wooden chest.

The entire room was covered in cobwebs, mildew, and dust.  There were also bird’s nests, or possibly rat’s nests, built just about anywhere an animal could find to build in.  Harry studied his new abode.  He walked carefully over the swaying floor and looked out through what was either a window or a hole his new wall.  There was swamp as far as he could see.

“Well,” Harry said at last, “It still beats living with the Dursleys.”  Then he smiled at his new home.


	3. In Which Harry Questions His Morality and Rolls in Some Slime

Upon surveying his new domain, Harry was very grateful to his relatives.  If it weren’t for them, and their incessant demands of chores, the task of making his new home livable might have seemed impossible, not to mention unpalatable.  It was only through Harry’s great luck that he was not only used to extreme toil, but that he was fully trained to the task at hand.  If only the Dursleys had also insisted that he learn how to repair stone structures or roofs, he’d have been all set.

That gratefulness and luck lasted for all of five minutes, while he searched for cleaning supplies.  This, of course, led him to consider what he might need to buy.  Which in turn led to the thought of where he might buy said purchases.  His surroundings might have been big on crocodiles and mud, but stores were in short supply.  

He tried touching his wand to his ring again.

“Take me back to my room?  Er…Leaky Cauldron.  Diagon Alley.  Knockturn Alley.  Um…reverso.  Return.  Fini incantum.  Hogwarts.  Gringotts.  Anywhere but here.  Drats.”

Whatever he said, the ring seemed to be a one way ticket to his estate.  It wasn’t sending him back.  He wondered why he hadn’t thought about how he would get back before.  Probably because he was an impulsive thirteen year old kid with a new mystery to explore.  Not to mention, nobody had ever bothered to teach him caution in his life.  Of course, if anyone asked, he’d tell them that activating the portkey had been an accident.

He hoped someone would be questioning him later.  He did not want to spend the rest of his life alone in a swamp.  He didn’t even have Hedwig.

“Aha!” he said to absolutely no one, unless the crocodiles and spiders happened to be listening.  “What I need is an owl!  So, I’ll perform some underage magic, and an owl will come to tell me I’m expelled, and then I can catch it and send a message back!”

So he took out his wand and cast the most practical spell he knew.   Red and gold lights burst from his wand in a spray of happy pops.  Wizards, as it turns out, are not the most practical of people.  Most spells that he had learned during the last two years were next to useless outside of the classroom.

The firecracker spell was pretty and fun, but had no use whatsoever in fending off crocodiles or death eaters, unless used as a distraction.  The ‘fire’ was magically bound to not hurt anything it came into contact with.  Harry, nonetheless, had a great deal of fun prancing about his new penthouse loft and sending firework displays all about the room and out the holes in the walls and roof.

Then he waited.  And waited.  And waited.

The owl bearing the notice of his fate failed to appear.  In fact, no birds of any kind appeared.  Any that had happened to be roosting nearby had been terrified into fleeing by the fireworks.  Even the crickets had momentarily gone quiet.

“Perhaps it simply has a very far way to fly?” Harry suggested to the spiders, them being the only ones around.  After all, Harry had no idea where Bogwater Estate was located.  Beyond the general fact that it was a swamp, and so probably not near the north or south pole, considering the lack of ice.  Nor at the equator, considering the lack of rainforest or palm trees.  He was quite certain that he was therefore located somewhere on the planet Earth, on land, between those extremes.  He hoped he was still in England.  Surely, one had to be in England somewhere to be counted as a lord?

“Are there many swamps in England?” Harry asked the spiders.  If only he had studied more of geography.  Or British history.  Or Politics.  Honestly, the curriculum at Hogwarts did seem a bit light on what the rest of the world considered to be essential subjects.  He wondered, a bit vaguely, what witches or wizards did who didn’t actually want a career in the magical world.  He’d have to ask Hermione later.  She seemed to be an expert on everything.  In fact she’d probably know a more practical spell than fireworks.

He wished Hermione was there.  He wished Ron was there too.  Not because Ron would have been particularly helpful in cleaning or knowledgeable in practical spells.  He would have made things more fun.

Now he had no friends, no owl, not even his school trunk.  All he had was an ugly ring that refused to send him back, his wand, and the very muddy clothes on his back.

“I wish they taught us cleaning spells at Hogwarts,” Harry said out loud . This time, for variety, he was speaking to the crocodiles down below.  He could just make them out if he leaned his head out of what was either a window or a hole.  “Or how to travel magically.  I know there’s a way to pop about all over the place, but they don’t teach first or second years how to do that.  How do you lot get around?  Swimming, I suppose.  I never learned how to do that either.  And because of you lot, I can’t even leave this tower.  I’m just as trapped here as I was last year.  Except no friends coming to the rescue.  No food through a cat flap.  No Hedwig for company.  Not even a crazy house elf.”

But it was just as his pity was reaching its peak, at the word ‘house elf’ that he heard a popping sound behind him.  He spun around, fearing that the tower was about to tumble down about his ears or sink into the swamp.  It was neither of those things.  He was no longer alone.

“AAAH!” Harry shrieked in his manly way.  “It’s Gollum!”

“Master!” gurgled the strange figure that so reminded Harry of a book character he had felt compelled to call it by its name.  The figure was gray skinned with large dark eyes and a skeletal physique.  It’s voice, when it spoke, was at once dry and raspy, but also gurgly, and altogether unpleasant to listen to.  “I is yous humble servant, oh master!”

“AAAH!  It’s Jar Jar Binks!” Harry screamed.

“This servant is being called Rosie, Master,” the creature sputtered and rasped at him, somehow managing to look obsequious and indignant at the same time.  Harry stared, first because he needed time to process what the creature had said into normal English, and then because he had never seen anyone who looked less like a ‘Rosie’ in his life.

“This servant is being so happy you is coming at long last to Bogwater Estate, Master,” Rosie continued, its voice sputtering with its joy.  Harry attempted to take a step backwards to avoid possibly phlegm, and promptly fell out the window.

Luckily for Harry, he was on the side of the tower that tilted in, rather than out, so instead of taking a nasty fall he found himself tumbling down the disturbingly soft green side of the tower.  Which was still a nasty fall, but for completely different and less fatal reasons.  The ground he was heading towards was probably going to be painful though, being hard stone even with the slime and crocodiles covering it.

Harry landed on something squishy.

“This servant is being happy to serve as your cushion, Master,” the ground beneath him managed to wheeze out.

Harry let out yet another manly shriek and jumped up.  His body, which felt a bit tender and bruised after being thrown about in such a manner, protested the movement.  He suspected Rosie’s body was protesting movement even more after having Harry land on her.  It.  Whatever.  At any rate, Rosie stayed lying on the ground.

“Crocodiles!” was Harry’s next shriek.  They were surrounded on all sides.  He made a mad scrambling attempt at climbing back up the tower, slid on the weird green slime coating the tower’s side, and then huddled himself into a helpless ball while he waited for his doom.

The doom failed to appear.

“This servant is being happy to see the old master’s crocodiles are flourishing after all this time,” Rosie gurgled out.  A nearby crocodile made a noise like a growl.  Teeth still failed to make an appearance anywhere on Harry’s body.  Cautiously, he lifted his head.

“Why aren’t they eating us?” he asked at last.  Rosie slowly pulled itself up from the ground.

“They is yous crocodiles, Master.  No Bogwater crocodiles will ever harm a Bogwater or his cherished friends.”

Harry considered this.  Then he looked back at the strange creature he had landed on.

“How did you end up below me, Rosie?” he asked.  The creature stared at him with wide eyes.

“You is Master,” Rosie answered.  “It is being this servant’s pleasure to serve you in all ways.  I is seeing you deciding to go for a slide and I is thinking you may find the ground hard.  So this servant is popping down to break Master’s fall.”

“Popping down?  You can just…pop places?  Can you take people with you?”

As though in answer, bony fingers reached out to grasp Harry’s ankle.  Then he felt a sensation like being jerked hard to the side, and suddenly they were both back in the tower.  Then the fingers let go and Rosie flopped down, breathing in harsh wheezes.

“Awesome!” Harry said.  He hoped that meant that Rosie could take him anywhere and that they weren’t stuck on Bogwater Estate.

“Happy…Master…Approves,” Rosie gurgled out.  It sounded a bit like it was dying.

“Are you dying?” Harry asked.  “How are you even still alive?  Wasn’t the last ‘Master’ a hundred years ago?”

“Good Master…worrying about servant.  I is not dying.  I is not living hundreds of years.  Old Master is casting _Maleficent Centum_ spell. I is sleeping under stasis charm until new master comes and is calling for me.”

“I don’t remember calling for a Rosie,” Harry pointed out.  He wondered if asking whether the creature was a boy or girl might be considered rude.

“Master was saying ‘house elf’ and I was coming.”

“Do you have to talk like that?”

“What way is master meaning?”

“Never mind.  So, you’re a house elf?  And you belong to me?”

“Master is correct.”

Harry thought about this.  Basically, from what he learned from Dobby, house elves are slaves.  Slavery, he was quite certain, was wrong.  In fact, it was illegal in the non-magical world.  Therefore, it was wrong of Harry to keep Rosie as a slave.  On the other hand, since slavery was all Rosie knew, he suspected it was equally wrong to simply hand Rosie a sock and send her…him…it on its way.  This was a moral dilemma he really had no idea how to solve.  In the end, he decided to solve it later and in the meantime to give Rosie as much freedom as he could, short of actually setting the house elf free.

“Call me ‘Harry’,” Harry said at last.  “Please.  And please…erm…only follow my orders if you want to.  And don’t punish yourself if you think you failed me.  And…um…do whatever you want to do, unless it’s hurting someone.  And tell me if you ever want to be free of me.”

Rosie stared at Harry.  It didn’t look offended.  Nor did it look happy.  Rosie looked confused.

“Yes, Master,” it said at last.

“Please call me Harry.”

“This servant prefers ‘Master’.  And Master is saying do as Rosie likes.  This servant is calling Master ‘Master’, Master.”

“Oh.”  Harry thought about that for a moment.  “Can you do that popping thing and take me back to my room in the Leaky Cauldron?  Or at least to Diagon Alley?  Or even just London.?”

“Yes, Master.”  And then Rosie did absolutely nothing.  The boy and the house elf stared at each other.

“And will you take me?” Harry asked at last.  He suddenly wondered if he had made a mistake, telling the elf to do what it wanted before Harry had gotten it to take him back to London.  What if it decided it didn’t want the new Lord Bogwater to leave?  What if it kept him prisoner?  What if he never left the swamp again and lived her forever with just crocodiles, spiders, and Rosie for company?

“Yes, Master.”  And Rosie reached out a bony hand to grab Harry’s wrist.  There was a jerking sensation.  Then they were no longer in the tower.  Nor were they in the swamp.  Nor were they in Harry’s hotel room.  Rosie had popped them into the middle of a woods.


	4. In Which Harry Goes Travelling and Loses His Trousers

Harry pulled himself out of the briars that had obligingly softened the landing where Rosie’s abrupt teleportation had thrown him.  It was just as well that his clothes were a lost cause from the mud as their new tears and blood stains were not helping their appearance.  Harry looked around at the trees.

“This does not look like London,” he helpfully informed the house elf.  Rosie looked around as well.

“Is master being certain?” Rosie asked.

“Quite certain.”

“Rosie may be a bit out of practice, my Master.  Rosie will do better.”  And so saying, and with a great deal of wheezing, Rosie grabbed Harry by his wrist and jerked him again.

 _Pop_.  Harry looked around.  He saw the word ‘London’ written out nearby.  There was also the word ‘Zoo’.  Most of Harry’s attention, however, was not on reading nearby words but in fact on the way the massive tiger was stalking towards them.

“Eep.” Said Harry.

“Look mummy!  There’s monkeys with the tigers!” a small excited human called from the proper side of the enclosure.

Harry had just enough time to feel a mixture of abject terror and indignant outrage before Rosie said, “hmm,” and they jerked sideways yet again.

 _Pop_.  Hooooonk!  They were staring into headlights.  _Pop._ Wheeooh wheeooh!  Security Alert! ‘Isn’t that the prime…’ _Pop_.  Silence.  Trees.  Grass.  Scantily clad joggers.  Screaming children.  They were in a park.  Rosie plopped over in a dead faint, gasping for every breath.

“Thank you, er, Rosie,” Harry said to the house elf.  He hoped it wasn’t dying.  He hoped they weren’t about to be arrested.  He hoped they were still in London.  For several minutes, both boy and house elf didn’t move, simply enjoying the lack of death threats, sirens, and mud.  Finally, when Harry’s stomach began to growl, he decided to make a bit of effort to find out where they were.  There was something very odd about the park, though Harry couldn’t quite place his finger on why.

“Wait here,” he told Rosie, because Rosie looked quite odd and Harry didn’t want to scare people off or answer awkward questions.  Rosie wheezed a bit in reply and stayed lying on the ground.  Harry stumbled off towards the nearest people, which happened to be a mother pushing a pram and holding hands with a young girl.

“Er…excuse me,” said Harry.  “This might sound odd, but…where am I?”

“Cowling Park,” the mother answered, giving him a confused and slightly suspicious look.  “Are you British?”

“Dirty!” the little girl shrieked, pointing at him with her free hand while attempting to fit the hand her mum held into her mouth.

“So…this isn’t London, then?” Harry asked, the feeling of something being very odd and very wrong growing.

“Of course it’s London,” the woman answered, her suspicious look growing.  “Is this some kind of joke?  Is that why you’re talking with the funny accent?”

“What?  This can’t be London,” Harry answered, though he supposed it could be on the outskirts of what he thought of as the city.

“Monkey!” the little girl shouted happily.  She wasn’t pointing at Harry.

“Right, nice to meet you, sorry to take up your time!” Harry said quickly, not daring to look behind him, and he hurried away.  It wasn’t until he got behind a tree that he dared to look back, half expecting to see Rosie trundling behind him like some strange disobedient puppy, but all he saw was the woman staring after him, the same confused and suspicious expression on her face, before she went on her way.

So, he was in London but the woman thought his accent was strange and this place looked nothing like the city.  Even in the middle of a park he should see tall buildings in the distance, surely!  Also there should be more tourists wandering around with dazed expressions from a long day of sightseeing.

He tried to think about what might have happened, huddled by his tree, when a random jogging man went by.

“Morning,” the man said with a tilt to his head as he passed by.  Harry stared.  It wasn’t the morning.  It had been three in the afternoon when he left his room over the Leaky Cauldron and by this point it had to be at least four, more likely five or later.  Then he realized all at once what had been bothering him all that time.  The sun was high in the sky as though it were around midday.

The time was wrong, the accent was wrong, even the trees looked a bit wrong.  With growing dread, Harry ran after the jogger.

“Excuse me!” he said, and the man paused, though he kept jogging in place, one hand going to his neck and the other checking his watch.  “What is the exact address of this place?”

“Cowling Park, London, Ohio,” the man answered promptly, just as though that weren’t quite an odd thing to ask, his eyes still glued to his watch.

“Ohio…where is Ohio?” Harry asked, feeling as lost as ever.

“South of Michigan, north of Kentucky, east of Indiana and west of New York,” the man answered, and then he jogged on again, not even bothering to look back.  Harry stared after him.  New York.  He definitely had heard of New York.  It was in America.  He was in America.  In a town called London, but in America.

“Awesome!”

Harry had never been to another country before, let alone to one all the way across an ocean.

On the other hand, Harry was covered in mud, had no proper money, and he couldn’t exactly leave Rosie gasping beneath a bush either.  It wasn’t exactly the ideal circumstances to explore.  Still, he was in America!  Surely he could do _something_ fun before he figured out how to get back to his London.

Harry walked slowly back to where he had left Rosie, his eyes turning every which way to try and take in the general American-ness of his surroundings.  He failed to see any cowboys charging down the street, or gun wielding thugs, or car chases, which he had a vague sort of idea was the kind of things one saw in America.  At least that was the sort of things in films; not that he’d seen many films but he had been able to catch glimpses when the Dursleys watched TV.  Dudley always liked films that had a lot of shooting, and since apparently everyone in America owns a gun, many such films took place in the US, usually around California but occasionally in the Old West or in New York.

Harry didn’t know where Ohio was located among the United States, but it didn’t seem to be a place where much of anything interesting went on.  He did hear screaming, but most of that came from a small playground in the park. He could see a road nearby too where an occasional car went by.  The cars didn’t speed or go careening round corners.  They just went along normally, albeit on the wrong side of the road.

“Rosie?” Harry said when he reached the bush where he’d left the house elf.

“Master?” the bush wheezed back.

“I don’t suppose you know magic for cleaning clothes or making money?” Harry asked.

“This servant is knowing how to remove dirts and muds,” the creature gurgled.  Then it did nothing.

“And will you clean our clothes?” Harry asked after a long moment.  Rosie slowly sat up.  It looked Harry up and down. Then Rosie’s fingers snapped.

Harry felt something a bit like having a large, unpleasantly wet sponge plunging over him.  In the next moment he was still quite damp and also rather cold, but all of the mud had been vanished.  So had the majority of his clothes.

“Eek!” Harry exclaimed, upon discovering that the only clothes Rosie had left behind were a very inadequate pair of old pants, particularly since, like all Harry’s muggle clothing, these had once belonged to Dudley.  Also, it was way too cold out to run around in what was basically a pair of baggy shorts that had been safety pinned so they didn’t fall off his slighter frame.

“Hmm,” said Rosie, who like Harry was now considerably less dressed, to the point that Harry was now fairly certain that Rosie was, in fact, female, unless house elf anatomy was significantly different from humans.  Rosie snapped her fingers again and she was clad in a fluffy towel.  A similar towel was no wrapped around Harry’s shoulders to far less effect, considering his larger size.

“It seems our clothings were more mud than clothings, master,” said Rosie.

Harry eyed the house elf suspiciously.  Thus far, every time Harry had asked for her to do something, she had failed miserably.  On the other hand, Harry was in a London and he was free of mud, and Rosie was rather old.  Did he dare ask her to try for London again?  At least now he was back to some form of civilization; was there a way he could make his own way back to London that didn’t involve explaining to authorities how he got to Ohio without a passport or plane?  Ohio had wizards too, didn’t it?  What where American magic users like?  Or did they burn them all way back in the witch burning days?  Harry vaguely recalled having to write a paper on the subject.  Oddly enough, that had been back at his Muggle primary school rather than for Hogwarts.

Thinking of the usual ways of travel finally jogged Harry’s memory into thinking properly.  Of course!  He had just recently discovered a way that wizards could travel from anywhere!  Possibly, even from the swamp, though he suspected the bus probably needed an actual road to travel on, even if it was magic.

“I’m going to try something,” Harry told Rosie, “Try to stay out of sight of other people.”

Then, taking his own advice because wandering around in his underpants with only a towel for covering wasn’t exactly the way he wanted to meet people either, Harry started to make for the nearest street.  Then he had a moment of panic and had to run back when he realized Rosie had vanished his pockets along with most of his clothing.  Luckily, his wand and the bag of coins he had on him hadn’t been vanished after all; they were lying on the ground around the bush.

This time he approached the street even more cautiously, being forced to hold his wand and money in his hands.  He furtively crept towards the street, trying to look normal as a car went by.  The car ignored him.  He crept more cautiously than ever and nearly fell over when he stealthily ran into the jogger from before.

“Hello,” said the jogger, “Bit chilly for a swim, isn’t it?”

The jogger went on.  Harry and, he hoped, Rosie reached the street.  Rosie turned out to be surprisingly good at being invisible.  With an anxious glance around for gawkers, and one hard look at a particularly curious squirrel, Harry casually raised his wand to the street.

He wondered if the bus would be able to come all the way from the United Kingdom, across an ocean to a completely different continent.  Now that he was trying it, it seemed rather unlikely.  So when a vehicle actually did appear with a sudden pop, Harry was so startled he fell over yet again.

It wasn’t a triple decker bus.  It wasn’t even a double decker or even just a bus.  A fullsized steam locomotive roared past then came to a stop in a loud squeal of tortured metal.  The carriage nearest to Harry opened its doors and a railway conductor stepped down iron steps to stand before Harry as Harry stumbled to his feet, gathering up the coins that had fallen out when he dropped their bag.

“Where are you off to, today?” the conductor demanded impatiently as he pulled out a gold pocketwatch and glanced at the time.  “Well, hurry up, we don’t want to be late!”

“Er…do you go all the way to London?  In England, I mean?” Harry asked.

“What do you think this is, the Jules Verne Express?  We don’t do global, just sea to shining sea.”

“Well…can you take us someplace that does go to London?”

“You want Grand Central,” the conductor answered, “It has passages to most any major city in the world.  That’ll be 15 dollars and 15 cents for a ticket for you and the elf.”

“Oh,” said Harry, looking down at his coins, “Do you take British wizard money?”  He held out some of his coins.

The conductor grumbled about kids who don’t even bother converting their money when they go on holiday, but he did pull out a sort of calculator, tap a few buttons, and then said, “Two galleons, three sickles.” 

Harry looked through his coins and was relieved to discover he had enough, hopefully even enough to get him home once he got to Grand Central, wherever that was.  He handed the man his money and the man did something on his calculator that made it suddenly spit out two tickets.  He punched a hole into each then handed them over.

“And your change,” the conductor finished, dropping a few coins into Harry’s hand.  “All aboard!  Next stop, Salem, Massachusetts!”

Harry hurried up the steps after the conductor, pausing only to make sure Rosie had followed only to discover that somehow Rosie was ahead of him.  By the time they stumbled into the car, the train was already in motion and the conductor was nowhere to be seen.  With a shrug, and relishing in the sudden heat inside the carriage, Harry slowly made his way to the nearest free seat.  The seats were made out of wood, rather like park benches, and had small tables between them.  Harry sat down next to a window and Rosie sat down under the table at his feet.

Harry took the time to tuck the tickets away into his coin bag for safekeeping and then looked at the coins the conductor had given him for his change, curious about what sort of money they had in America.  He found he had three large round coins.  They seemed to be made out of wood and on one side it said a large five painted on it along with tinier writing saying ‘United States of America’ and ‘One Nickel’.  On the other side was a painting of a buffalo.  The buffalo turned its head and looked at Harry, then bent over to try and eat the year printed at the bottom of the coin.  Over its head clouds forming the letters ‘In God we trust’ floated by.

After checking the other coins and finding them to be the same, except that in one the buffalo was running away from something, Harry slid them into his bag as well.

“You could sit in a seat, Rosie,” Harry told his house elf then, glancing under the table.

“This servant is preferring the floor, master,” Rosie answered, and didn’t move.  With a shrug, Harry turned his attention out of his window.  They were passing by fields and fields of something brown.

“I always wanted to see America,” Harry remarked.  “Somehow I didn’t think it’d be sitting on a magic train in my pants and a towel with a house elf at my feet.”

He got to see quite a bit of America before they reached Grand Central, as the train ride went on and on past small towns and fields.  Occasionally he got to see some deer or a man on a tractor but mostly he saw wide open fields.  After a bit of this, Harry explored further along the train.  He wondered if there was a food car.

He walked through his mostly empty carriage and then the next which had a family with small children who were climbing all over the chairs and running up and down the aisle while their parents peacefully sat in a corner and looked out the window.  The next carriage had some sort of business meeting going on.  All the people had a sort of grave, formal air to them despite the fact that they were all wearing bright feathers as part of the American version of robes.  The ‘robes’ in fact more resembled wooly dresses with gun belts and feathered head pieces.  Harry might have thought he’d stepped into an old Western after all except somehow the ‘cowboys’ and the ‘Indians’ were the same people and they all had the same stiff sort of air that important politicians or bank clerks got.  They all paused in whatever they were discussing when Harry trundled awkwardly through, clutching his towel about his shoulders and trying to pretend this is how people where he comes from normally dress.

The only good thing about the entire situation was that no one pointed and said something like ‘Isn’t that Harry Potter?’.  He wondered if it was because he wasn’t famous in America or if it was just that no one expects a famous British boy to suddenly show up in his underpants on a train in America.  Either way, they mumbled quietly and solemnly to each other until he left.  He could hear their voices growing louder again as the door closed.

The next carriage was much calmer, carrying quite a few elderly ladies whose American robes were much prettier than the business people wore and their head pieces far more elaborate, some being hats like Harry was used to and some being pointed witch hats and some being feathered or jeweled hair pieces.  Their husbands were there too, looking properly subdued and quiet in the way husbands tend to look when their wives have convinced them to go someplace social when they’d be just as glad to sit at home.

“Oh you poor dear,” one of the woman said, having noticed Harry, “Whatever happened to your clothes, boy?”

“They got muddy,” Harry answered truthfully, “A house elf tried to clean them and vanished the clothes too.”

“Oh dear,” the lady said, laughing kindly.  “They do try their best, don’t they?  Here, I think I can manage something with this.”  And she took Harry’s towel, made some complicated movements with her wand, and the towel transformed into a green knee length sort of American robe, rather like what the other men were wearing.

“There,” said the woman, “I thought green might bring out your lovely eyes.”

Harry awkwardly struggled into his new robe.  It went on like a shirt except it ran down to his knees and was heavier and thicker than what he was used to wearing.  The outside was quite rough, in fact, though the inside luckily turned out to be softer.  In fact, the texture was quite similar to the towel.

“Oh yes,” the lady said, still laughing kindly, “Though I’m afraid I can’t do a belt for you.”

“Thank you,” Harry answered.  Then, “Do you know if they serve food on the train?”

“Oh, that’s quite easy,” the lady answered, “Just tap your table and say what you’d like.”  Then to show him, she tapped the table in front of herself and said, “Iced tea and a Cherry Bomb.”  Almost instantly, a woman wearing a white tunic was walking up to the table with a silver tray on which two bottles perched.  Harry didn’t see how she appeared but he didn’t think it was through the carriage door.

“That will be two dollars,” the woman said and the lady handed her a couple silver coins from her purse.  The server placed the two bottles on the table and then walked away.  Harry could swear he watched her the entire time but somehow she managed to vanish without him seeing quite how it was done.

“There,” said the lady, “Now, young man, you must sit with me and tell me about London.”  She pushed one of the bottles towards Harry, the one with red fizzy liquid.  Its label read ‘Cherry Bomb!’ in loud red lettering against the backdrop of an explosion.

“Oh,” said Harry, “Thank you, but I didn’t want to impose…”

“Nonsense,” the lady answered.  “I certainly won’t be drinking it; far too sweet for me, so if you don’t join me now it will just be wasted.  Here, you can order some lunch if you like, and then we can talk.”

“I suppose I could,” Harry said, “But Rosie will be hungry, too.”

At the word Rosie, the house elf that Harry had left under the table several cars away was suddenly there, at his feet.  Harry jumped and only just managed not to spill his drink everywhere by virtue of not having gotten around to opening the lid.

“Master is wanting Rosie?” Rosie gurgled.

“Oh…er…” said Harry, feeling his face heat up at being called ‘master’.

“You must be the house elf that vanished this young boy’s clothes!” the lady said cheerfully.  “I’m Linda, by the way.  Linda Moccasin.  The name comes from the snake, by the way, not the shoe, but don’t worry; I don’t bite!”

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry answered, watching her carefully for signs of recognition but she didn’t react.  “And this is Rosie.”

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” said Linda.  “Now, Rosie, Harry and I were just going to sit down to lunch.  You can join us, of course, but perhaps you’d be more comfortable joining my Coyote?”  Before Harry could begin to wonder what Linda meant by that, there was a pop and a second house elf was sitting beneath the table.  At least, Harry supposed it must be a house elf.  It was the size of one and it had pointed ears.  In fact, it had sharp features all over with a pointed nose and a pointed chin and it was dressed in clothes made from green leaves.

“Mistress called?” the elf asked with a smile that showed far too many pointed teeth.

“Thank you, Coyote,” said Linda, “I was just wondering if you might show Rosie here the way to the elf carriage for lunch?  Unless of course Rosie prefers to stay here?”

“This servant will go to the elf carriage, master,” Rosie announced, and both elves vanished with a pop.

“Don’t you worry about your Rosie,” insisted Linda.  “My Coyote will look after…her?”

Still not completely sure what had just happened, Harry nonetheless managed to order some chicken sandwiches.  The server, a man this time, seemed about as happy as the conductor had been when Harry presented his British money, but a calculator soon appeared in his hands and soon Harry had another American wooden nickel as change.

The sandwiches were exactly the same as any he might get in England.  The Cherry Bomb drink turned out to be a cherry flavored soda that exploded when he opened it.  At least, it seemed like it had exploded in an eruption of fizz and a cherry had popped up so violently it hit the ceiling of the car.  After that, though, the soda was fairly normal.

And while he ate and Linda sipped at her iced tea, he somehow found himself telling her the whole story of how he had gone to the bank and how he had arrived at his new estate and met Rosie and how he finally found himself lost in America in his pants.

“I should buy some new undies if I were you,” Linda advised with a twinkle in her eyes.  Harry turned a bit red but silently agreed.  He rather wondered why he had never bothered to buy himself some new clothes before.  Somehow, he supposed it had always seemed weird to use his wizard money to buy muggle things.

“Next stop: Grand Central Station, New York!” a loud voice screamed over the roar of the train.

That was Harry’s stop.  He jumped up, suddenly feeling excited as he realized he was going to be in New York.  Surely he didn’t have to go straight back to London?

“Just a moment, young man,” Linda said.  She grabbed a couple of napkins, did some complicated wandwork, and handed him a pair of shoes.  They were made of leather and had green beads that matched his robe.

“Some moccasins from a Moccasin,” Linda said with a smile.  The train screeched to a halt.  A good many people were getting off at Grand Central and the doorway was crowded.  Harry clutched his wand in one hand and his money bag in the other and said goodbye to Linda.

“It was nice to meet you,” Harry said.

“Nice to meet you too…Lord Bogwater,” she answered.  Then Harry called Rosie and together the stepped off the train.


End file.
